


Nothing But My Bones

by GhostlyWitchAvenger



Series: Misc. Star Trek Ideas, Snippets, and Stories [9]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), The Chronicles of Riddick Series
Genre: Amnesia, BAMF Leonard "Bones" McCoy, Bones is Vaako, F/M, Gen, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Slavery, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-05
Updated: 2018-11-29
Packaged: 2019-03-27 12:14:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13880664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GhostlyWitchAvenger/pseuds/GhostlyWitchAvenger
Summary: I am Lieutenant Commander Leonard McCoy. Chief Medical Officer of the U.S.S. Enterprise. Serial number DT-324-865.“Who do you swear fealty to, Siberius?”I am Siberius Vaako. First Among Commanders. And I swear fealty to you, Lord Marshal. Loyalty ‘til Underverse come.‘Bones’ is dead.





	1. Chapter 1

Vaako had known happiness, once. He was sure of it. No longer could he remember his life before becoming a Necromonger, as his memories were always out of reach - and perhaps, gone completely. But there was always this ache in his heart for more than what he currently possessed, a feeling no number of Purifications could wash away.

The stars called his name, whispering on the edges of his mind. In the halls of the Basilica, Siberius saw the ghosts of faces he couldn’t recall. He longed for smooth white walls instead of the ornate, dark metals of the ships. His hands longed to heal and give, but instead took and killed.

This was weakness. A flaw. Imperfection. Fragility.

Burying these blasphemous feelings as deep as he could, Vaako had always served to the best of his ability. Some had asked the treasonous question: why? Why give all that you are? Why so loyal, when you owe them nothing?

A snarl and sometimes a dagger through their slow-beating heart was his answer.

However, if he truly thought about it, the question wasn’t an unwarranted one.

Lord Marshal Kryll had purchased him from an Orion slave ship - and if Vaako were to ruminate long enough, he could recall the tortures among green skin - a quivering waif of what he now was. At the time, he could no longer recall the name he had been born with, so hooked on the drugs pumping through his bloodstream. The poison had made him slow and soft, pleading for pleasure and throbbing for someone’s touch.

He didn’t know what the fifth Lord Marshal had been thinking when he had looked upon him, a horny junkie imprisoned against his will. Perhaps he had made a pretty picture, for he’d been dragged from the slave ship directly to the Lord Marshal’s quarters, hidden away from the prying, scheming eyes of others.

Most had looked back and had seen him as just a lowly servant who was given a name befitting his rank, but they hadn’t known what his true purpose was.

A plaything.

Even to this day, no one had known that Siberius was the reason why Zhylaw had originally ascended to the Necromonger throne. Zhylaw had been the first Necromonger, aside from the Lord Marshal himself, to have laid eyes on him. He remembered that day clearer than most.

Kryll had gotten lazy over time, and the abuses that others suffered from his hand were becoming noticeable. They whispered of revolution, “Overthrow the throne!” They had said, “He is cruel and weak!” Such things hadn’t concerned him until Kryll had forgotten to hide him away before he left for his duties. Siberius had been found, tied up and muscles quivering, sobbing around the gag in his mouth.

Zhylaw had washed him. Clothed him. Fed him. And after he had taken Kryll’s life, had taught him the Necromonger way, and promoted him to Lord. Even gave him a wife. The sixth Lord Marshal had been fair, maybe even kind, according to some.

It hadn’t taken him long to change; for the power to go to his head. And suddenly, Zhylaw was dead. And a breeder took his place.

Maybe Vaako was so loyal because he still clung to those first memories of kindness. Maybe he was so loyal because it was the Necromonger way that saw him through his trials and changes. Or maybe it was because it was the only purpose to be found among these godforsaken people.

“Lookin’ like a ghost, Vaako.”

He loathed to think just how dangerous Riddick could be if he were to transcend. Already, the man was silent as the grave and a killer at his core.

“My complexion is the same as most Necromongers, Lord Marshal.”

A scoff, and he did his best to ignore the hellhound circling his feet, “You know I changed the rules ‘round here, right? Yet, I hear you're still goin’ to those creepy Purifiers once a week. Take a break, Vaako. Live a little.”

Ignoring the fact he was the one to deliver his Lord’s message to the Basilica, he had certainly noticed some taking advantage of Riddick’s change. Already, he’d seen soldiers with more colour in their skin, their irises reverting from cold blue back to before they had been Purified.

“I believe you made it so that we can make our own decisions, Lord Marshal. My decision is to continue with the Purifications,” The flinch was involuntary when the hellhound snapped at him, before skittering away. It was their own version of being playful, but Siberius was well aware of how dangerous they could be if he didn't keep an eye on them, “Besides, Necromongers do not 'live a little’, as you say.”

_ You green-blooded hobgoblin! _

Another flinch, though for an entirely different reason this time. If his Lord had noticed, he didn’t show it, simply choosing to release a deep chuckle, “You keep tellin’ yourself that. But, you never know,” Riddick stepped away, and the heat Necromongers associated with Breeders finally stopped seeping through his tunic and into the skin of Vaako’s back, “Actually, consider it an order. Stay away from the Purification chambers for a month.”

“My Lord-.”

“Just a month, relax, Vaako,” Riddick settled himself onto his throne, legs sprawled in front him like he hadn’t a care in the world. Silvery eyes, however, stayed alert, “See what it’s like. Still want to do ‘em when the month’s up? Go ahead.”

Siberius had to clench his jaw to keep from speaking his mind, “As you command, Lord Marshal.”

With a deep bow, he left.


	2. Chapter 2

Looking upon the small away team milling around on the transporter pad, Jim felt a dull pang strike his heart. There was always something - more like  _ someone  _ \- missing. Even now, nearly after five years, he could still hear that voice grouching at him about whatever was to come. It had been so long, yet, sometimes Jim found himself turning in the captain’s chair, the worst of puns dying on his tongue when he found no one there.

Nothing had been the same since Bones’ disappearance. Really, he hadn’t expected everything to go sideways on  _ Risa _ of all places. But he’d been waiting at a bar, where they had agreed to meet up, only to get a call that Bones’ biosigns had gone on the fritz before disappearing altogether.

The only evidence left behind had been a small spray of Leonard’s blood on an alley wall, something the computer claimed was indicative of a blow to the head.

They had searched high and low on the pleasure planet, but found nothing else. Eventually, Leonard McCoy had been declared dead in absentia, and Starfleet ordered them to resume their duties.

That declaration had been like a hard blow to the gut, and it still hasn’t gone away.

Oh, what he would give to have his friend back with them.

“Captain,” A cultured voice cut through his morose thoughts. Leave it to Spock to always pull him out of these funks, “I believe it is time to beam to the Basilica.”

“You ‘believe’, Spock?”

Spock probably would’ve turned his eyes skyward, but that wouldn’t be Vulcan of him, so he settled for a slight huff from his nostrils, “Captain, it is time to beam to the Basilica.”

“There’s the Spock I know,” Jim smiled, clapping him on the back before stepping onto the pad, “So… Necromongers, huh? Scary name.”

“Fitting. All records of the Necromongers detail them as a… war mongering cult, for lack of a better term. Before recently coming under the rule of their newest leader, Lord Marshal Riddick, they destroyed entire planets and their populations.”

“Like I said: scary.”

“Perhaps you should keep opinions like that to yourself,” Nyota spoke up from behind him, a small quirk to her lips, “Don’t want them to get the wrong impression. This is a diplomatic mission after all, Kirk.”

“Don’t remind me,” It was no secret that Jim, despite being the captain of the ‘Fleet’s flagship, hated having to put on a face. But that was one of his many duties as a captain, after all, “Pray that I don’t mess up, right?”

“To rely on prayer is ill-.”

“Four to to beam over, Mr. Scott.”

Jim had been greeted in a variety of ways by alien leaders since the beginning of the five-year mission. Some had taken him by the hand and had been incredibly welcome, while others had kept him at arm’s length as they delved into the proceedings. No matter the method or custom, they still welcomed him in some way, shape, or form.

However, the Necromongers were no such people. Immediately upon materialising, the small group had been escorted by a party of Necromongers guards. While unexpected, it wasn't entirely surprising. Trusting that the guards would lead them to where they needed to be, Jim took the time to drink in his surroundings.

Ornate. Dark. Cold.

The Basilica was everything the  _ Enterprise  _ was not.

The architecture obviously played a large role in this environment, but what he noticed first were the people. Plenty of guards milled about, still like statues with both spears and blasters alike. The civilians - if Jim was to pick a word to describe them, that was the closest, but not quite accurate - paid the guards no mind, but had no qualms with staring at the strange newcomers. 

Quite a few of them had ice blue eyes.

Quite a few of them wore leather, too.

“What is this, a BDSM club?” The question was meant to be quiet, meant for only Spock’s ears, but the soldier closest to Jim snorted before quickly clearing his throat. If Jim looked close enough, through the slits of the helmet, he could see warm, brown eyes staring resolutely ahead. Not blue.

“Captain, please…” Spock eyed him without turning his head, “Now is not an appropriate time for such humour.”

“Is there ever such an appropriate time?” Nyota muttered quietly, but didn’t comment further when they reached a set of large, metal doors. They towered over the group, and Jim had to remind himself that they were on a ship of advanced technology, not on a planet.

Because from what Jim could gather, these people had no planet.

Another soldier approached from the other end of the hall, this one obviously higher in rank with the leather -  _ what was with the leather?  _ \- that billowed behind him as much as leather could. There were long braids draped over his shoulder, the beads on the end clacking against each other and the metal of his breast plate. It made for a soothing rhythm, surprisingly.

“I must speak with the Lord Marshall,” His voice, deep and oddly familiar, made Jim wish he could see more than the hazel eyes visible through the helmet’s visor.

“You will have to wait your turn, commander. The Lord Marshall’s guests are here to begin the negotiations between the Necromonger fleet and the Federation, and he awaits them beyond these doors,” Was it just Jim, or was the head guard sounding a little smug? The nervous look Nyota cast him told him that he hadn’t imagined it.

Hazel eyes turned on them for a brief second, scrutinising them and seemingly searching for something before darting back to the head guard.

“It is a matter of great importance that cannot wait a second long-.”

“As I have said, commander, you will simply have to wait your turn. Or do you think yourself too important-?”

“Now, what,” The sudden voice, a rumbling baritone, cut them off from the other side of the door. Even Spock couldn’t hide his flinch, “Could two of my best soldiers possibly be squabbling about, hm?”

“Apologies, Lord Marshall,” The commander spoke before the other could speak, who sent him a withering glare in response, “But I must discuss something with you that cannot wait.”

There was a pause, before the Lord Marshall chuckled, “Let them all in. I don’t see why I can’t speak to both. Once they’re here, I can decide what’s more important.”

“But, Lord Marshall, with all due respect-.”

“Cease.”

The head guard pursed his lips, before sharply nodding and stepping aside, allowing the group to pass through once the doors swung inward. His lips curled when the commander passed him, but he otherwise didn’t say a word in retaliation.

“Welcome,” Riddick greeted from where he had just seated himself on the throne, arms swept out to the sides and a sly grin on his lips. The room was darker than he would have preferred, but it must have been for effect because Riddick’s eyes glinted like blades in the moonlight. Jim decided that he was the most dangerous person in the room, “You must be Captain Kirk. Care to introduce me to your fellow officers?”

“Of course, Lord Marshall Riddick,” Jim stepped forward, bowing briefly at the waist before gesturing to the pair, who both inclined their heads in greeting, “This is Mr. Spock, my First Officer, and this is Lieutenant Nyota Uhura, my Chief Communications Officer.”

“A pleasure,” He purred, “And you are here to begin negotiations with my people, correct?”

“Lord Marshall,” The commander, who had been silent, spoke before anyone else could get a word in. Jim huffed at that, “Please, this cannot wait another moment.”

Riddick’s animal-like eyes snapped to him, calculating how he should respond before leaning back in his seat, “Captain Kirk, this is my favoured Commander, Lord Vaako. He’s served the Necromongers for the last five years. Now, Vakko, what is it you have to tell me?”

Vaako stepped forward and knelt on the steps leading to the throne, “I bring news of a rebellious faction amongst our ranks, my Lord.”

“And what proof do you have of this?”

“One of my soldiers informed me only mere minutes ago. He had been approached by them, and once he told me of this, I came to tell you immediately.”

A hand rubbed over his mouth, “I see. Captain Kirk, if you’re willin’ to put these off until this matter can be resolved…”

“O-of course,” Jim may always complain that negotiations are boring, he was getting sick of all the drama that followed him wherever he went, “I will have to inform the admiralty of this development, but we can resume once you’re ready, Lord Marshall.”

“You have my thanks, Captain. Vaako, with me,” Riddick stood abruptly to his feet, and the shadows moved for the briefest of seconds before a hound-like creature leapt from the darkness, following on their master’s heels, “And take that stupid helmet off your head. I refuse to talk if I can’t see your face.”

“Yes, Lord Marshall,” Vaako said dutifully, and as Jim was being ushered out of the throne room, he managed to see the commander’s face before the doors shut.

Hazel eyes. A short nose. Sharp eyebrows. Pronounced cheekbones. Lips screwed into a scowl.

It was the face of a friend on the body of a stranger.

“Bones?!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the late update and for the short chapter, guys! This is just a side project, and with my course load and other obligations, I can't promise when the next chapter will be up! 
> 
> Thanks for your patience!
> 
> Also, this chapter is kind of messy and kind of sucks, sorry!

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think! This idea has been sitting in my Drive since May 2017, so I'm excited to start working on it!


End file.
